small bites, from an unusual plate

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Kelsey came into my life purposefully from the Nashville Humane Society. She was a three-legged motherless German Shepherd/Sheltie mix I met after the NHS experienced a fire. I’d gone to foster a cat, but was ambushed by a wicked fast furball that jumped into my lap, snuggled up under my ear and held on as if her life depended on it. She was so seriously quick, I didn’t notice her missing leg until I put her down a good 15 minutes later.

OK, back to the TN litter experience….

Cab was a black lab mix puppy from a purebred chocolate lab and … some other type of dog. This puppy boy was talkative in the way Cab Calloway sang: Ayow, ayowa, yowa, yow. He ambushed me with cuteness and sang the entire time I was driving. Yes, beginning in Tennessee, all the way to Michigan.

Anticipating the same sort of scenario in Michigan, I was determined not to reach in anywhere or pick anyone up. Jeff seemed to know the farmer that let us into the dog run area. The man didn’t stick around, closing the gate behind him as he left. “I’m gonna finish my dinner,” he said. “Let me know when you’re done.”

We rounded a corner were completely ambushed by steady stream of roly-poly Jack Russell tumblers. I stopped moving at once and must have looked as surprised and terrified as I felt, because Jeff stopped, too. “What?” he asked.

“I don’t want to squish one!” I faltered. He laughed and advised me to move slowly.

“There are more in the barn,” he explained, grabbing my hand.

My eyebrows shot up and my eyes narrowed. “And you would know this how?” I inquired. “Because… I’ve already been here,” he answered matter-of-factly. I realized I’d been ambushed by my dogged husband, too.

Moving inside, it took me a moment to adjust to the dark. I was still squinting a little when one of the little spotters ran up to Jeff’s foot, sniffed and start a happy dance. “

Oh,” he said scooping it up to eye level, “you remember me!?” He scratched both ears, rubbed it’s pudgy belly and turned to me with hopeful puppy-eyes. “It’s a boy….” Jeff offered, extending the little guy toward me.

I took him without fear, because, as I mentioned earlier, the pip squeaks weren’t ready to leave their momma, yet.

Nannee went back and forth a few times, but eventually settled into an extended stay with us.

That was precipitated by a very bad flu. She had terrible coughing fits, trouble keeping anything down, and was reluctant to eat. Through badgering, I finally got Nannee to agree to try some beef broth and crackers.

When I brought them to her, she looked up at me tiredly and apologized ‘for being such a burden.’ “You shouldn’t be taking care of me,” she said. “You should be doing what young people do…”

“What do young people do?” I laughed, as I set down the tray. “Nannee,” I told her. “We want you here with us. The only time we feel you’re safe is when you’re here.”

What I meant was if she was with us, we weren’t worrying about her at home alone. It didn’t come out that way, of course. She distastefully screwed up her face, looked at me sidewise, and said she was going to rest.

“Ok,” I replied, backing out, well aware I’d managed to insult her again. This time by inferring she was incompetent and couldn’t take care of herself.

I didn’t get a chance to explain it all to Jeff when he came home because he stopped in Nannee’s room first.

After a while, he came into the kitchen and gave me a look of complete unfathomableness.

“Why,” he asked, extending his arm and thrusting out his pointer finger, “did you tell Nannee the only time we have sex is when she’s here?”

“That’s not what I said!” I protested. “What I said was – the only time we feel you’re safe is when you’re here!”

Jeff let out an uproarious laugh. Then, the doorbell rang. Pastor David had come to give Nannee communion at her request. Jeff ushered him into the guest room and within 30 seconds, I heard more uproarious laughter coming from that end of the house.

Of course, I was mortified. First, because I would have never said what she thought I said. Second, because now the pastor was in on this situation. Third, because Jeff’s brother Eric was also in on it, as well.

After communion, and after Pastor and Eric left, I slid by Jeff. “Nannee,” I sat on the edge of the bed, “I didn’t say that!” “Jeff told me,” she smiled widely, patting my hand with hers. Jeff started laughing, again, which made me laugh. That set Nannee off into a combo laughing/coughing fit.

When we all calmed down a bit, I noticed she hadn’t eaten anything. I took the tray off the nightstand and told her I was going to warm up the broth, again.

On my way to the kitchen, I heard Jeff laughing again. Although I saw the amusement in the situation, it just wasn’t funny enough to keep carrying on like that. It didn’t last long, so I guessed it was finally over.

I came back in with the reheated cup. Jeff took one look at me and doubled over. He was laughing and sweating and slapping his knee and trying to breathe. “Nannee thought,” he wheezed out.

“Oh, Jeff – don’t… ’” Nannee interrupted him.

“Nannee thought,” he continued after a deep breath.

“Jeeehhhff!” Nannee squawked.

Jeff was determined. “Nannee said…” He straightened up a bit and another deep breath.

“She said,” he hiccupped like a broken record. “She said – ‘Did she say something about a brothel?!’”

Before I began this WordPress journey, I used a now defunct free library blog. Before I began A Year of Memories, which is now in its second year, I would just write. Whatever was on my mind; informational editorials and advice, mostly to myself.

I often go back to my archives looking for a specific story: to find an outline, for the facts, for details and any memories I might have forgotten. I didn’t find what I was looking for tonight. I found April 16, 2013, instead.

There were paragraphs before this excerpt and paragraphs beyond, as well. It may seem like an interruption, but it’s a crucial part of the story. It’s what allowed me to have stories to share. I won’t lie and say from here on it will all be laughter. There are more sad moments coming. There are also tender moments, happy moments, hilarious moments.

Still, if there is only one lesson to be learned from storying the past, it is this:

Being pleased with your life is a wonderful long-term thing, but happiness…?
Happiness is a notch above, usually for a shorter time than we’d like.
How could we know what happy was if it didn’t sweep in and out of our lives?

Happiness can only be counted in moments.
So, count them.
Immediately.
Safe-guard the memories.

Someday ahead, you’ll need them to remind you
that you were indeed happy once, and for a while.

Trust that now may not be your time.
Act on this: happiness is something you can give away,
To whomever you choose;
even if you don’t have any, at this particular time.

You know, my Jeff was a patriot. He always removed his ever-present hat for the national anthem. He removed his hat and placed a hand over his heart for any flag passing by. He admired his friends in the service, had great respect for veterans, never missed a Memorial Day or 4th of July parade, and believed America was the greatest country in the world.

Jeff also had a wisdom to impart when anyone began discussing politics.

“It doesn’t matter who becomes president tonight,” he’d say. “When we all wake up tomorrow, the cows still gotta get milked.”

This self-proclaimed non-politicking was just a bit of Korte bluster mostly to offset his father’s very-politicking Korte bluster. His practical point was that things tend to stay the same and nothing drastic happens overnight after an election.

Jeff truly cared about his country, his state, his home. I’m sure he would have been horrified by this election, disheartened entirely. I’m afraid this election could very well turn our nation into a disaster tomorrow. I’ve been praying it doesn’t.

At this point, though, the only thing I can say for certain is Jeff’s truth still stands.

I mentioned the surprise. It really was a surprise. Never saw it coming.

But before the surprise was cake. Cakes, I should say

Our wedding cake was beautiful. And delicious. And demolished. And someone took a picture of that. Or, more accurately, someone took a picture of Jeff’s sister, Sally’s friend and I dealing with the aftermath and creating more laughter.

Towards the end of the wedding, I learned that the smallest layer of cake, on top, was traditionally saved for the first anniversary. It successfully went home with Jeff’s mom, and carefully made it into the freezer.

A year later, it was as flat as a pancake. Somehow, it had migrated to the bottom of the chest and was subjected to the weight of anything that might have required freezing. Jeff’s mom was greatly disappointed and apologetic when she discovered it.

It was Jeff’s idea to go the grocer and purchase a small round with yellow icing roses, which was as close as they had to orange roses. We requested “1st Anniversary’” be added in orange, which turned out to be red because there was no orange.

When we showed up with it, Sally laughed delightedly, teared-up, and then giggled when Jeff royally announced, “It’s time to eat cake!”

Cake was distributed – and, as now was J & J tradition, my plate had an extra-large dollop of icing scraped from Jeff’s piece.

A Groom’s cake was another thing I knew nothing about. But, I was assured it was a thing way back when we purchased the race car cake pan. The cake turned out spectacularly. The fondant “stickers” and the accessories were perfect.

Not nearly as perfect as the enthusiasm shared by Jeff and his best man, as they cut the cake together and proceeded to the feeding. That’s another one of my favorite pictures, because it reminds me of how easy it was and how much fun it was to get drawn into Jeff’s enthusiasm.

The last surprise was a wonderful one. Jeff and I were led to folding chairs in the middle of the dance floor. As we sat, our families and friends began to gather around us. Most everyone had a small piece of paper with them. Those who didn’t, shared.

We were still baffled… until the singing started. We sat there amazed and touched; smiling and crying, surrounded by a not-so-impromptu choir organized by my family.

There were only 3 pictures in the stash of developed disposables. One is a barely distinguishable crowd of crooners, one is fairly clear picture of us being confused; one is clearly full of love.

I still feel the joy of that picture. The boisterous singing is what I recall every time I hear that song. What a wonderful uninhibited gift to wrap things up.

There was the delish dinner, more dancing, cake cutting, traditional garter and bouquet tosses, customary ball & chain and an adorable surprise.

I guess I didn’t realize that the term ‘ball and chain,’ can hold a really a negative connotation. For this particular group of friends and family, it was actually a playful right-of-marriage-passage.

The groom knew it would be coming, and so did most the brides. So, when the groomsmen and friends corralled Jeff to chain the real bowling ball to his leg, I wasn’t surprised. I don’t think anyone was surprised, at least not on Jeff’s side of the family.

You see, the heavy ball, light-weight but sturdy plastic chain and real lock and key came as a set, passed down from each married couple, who’d save it for the next. In some of the photos you can see the names written on the legacy.

The beauty of it was, that the bride was immediately given the key and the task of symbolic loving release. How long she let her beloved tote that thing around wasn’t really indicative of anything but fun.

I only let Jeff tote it around long enough to be sure he had his fun with it.

I don’t know who has the ball now. I hope someone is saving it for their children’s wedding.

The bouquet toss was a little bit of a scramble when we realized that the toss bouquet was embedded in the top of the cake. I ended up grabbing a smaller and very pointy attendant’s, nobody got their eye poked out so, that was good.

The garter was the most normal thing about our wedding. Except, I don’t know the young lady who caught the bouquet and was subsequently gartered.

Anyone have a clue? I’d love to know….

Quote for the Week:

Bonus Photos:

Nannee noticed the ritual beginning, the putting on, the carrying,t he assist from Sally and the unlocking. One thing though, where’d that extra hand on Jeff’s waist come from?